Monsters
by escspace
Summary: "Do you love me?" "I do." "Then that makes you my lover." [Note: contains sensitive themes (unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, incest).]
1. Chapter 1

"Do you love me?"

"I do."

"Then that makes you my lover." Henrie laughed, sweet and soft. He placed the glass of water on Frankenstein's desk. "You've been hunched over that pile of books all day, take a break." His fingers wandered to Frankenstein's neck and shoulders, placing pressure there, rubbing there, trying to ease him. He eyed the books.

Frankenstein shifted, tilting his head back. He sighed, smiling. "You've gotten quite good at that."

"Of course, for you." Henrie smiled back.

* * *

Frankenstein hazily opened his eyes to see Henrie standing over him, watching him, always. He was always there, had always been. They were hardly ever apart, even when Frankenstein had made himself pathetically ill from experiments.

"How are you feeling?"

"Still awful." He was too weak to offer a chuckle or sit up in the presence of his friend.

"Are you able to eat?" Henrie's voice was gentle with concern, and Frankenstein smiled at that. He adored that voice.

"Without bringing it all back up again? Unlikely."

"Oh…" Henrie took the seat next to his bed. "I'll just watch over you then. Tell me if you need anything."

"Thanks…" Frankenstein felt Henrie's hand on his own. He drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

"It's _fantastic._ "

"It's terrible." Frankenstein pressed his lips together, his brow tense. "It's just...too much, too costly." He sighed, lowering his head as he roughly sweeped his hand across the desk, knocking the notes and books to the floor as if they disgusted him. They did. "It makes us no better than _them_."

"It makes us _stronger_." Henrie kneeled to the floor, picking up a book, holding it tightly. "Isn't that what you've always wanted?" He looked up at Frankenstein. "We've worked so damn hard, and you're just going to throw it all away?" Something like sadness or disappointment or frustration creased his face. "Dark Spear, Frankenstein, will be our savior." Maybe it was desperation.

Frankenstein shook his head. "It won't; it _can't_. I might be called a demon, but I don't want to make one." He looked sorrowfully down at his companion. "I'm sorry, Henrie."

Henrie swallowed tightly, holding onto Frankenstein's gaze. He spoke quietly, placidly, like the sweet sea, "I am as well."

* * *

Dark Spear stood before him, a horror.

So it was so.

Frankenstein looked forward and steeled his countenance. Dark Spear was everywhere, pushing him back with a corrosive force. And when he reached forward to take them up, to take his responsibility, they wailed, they rejoiced, another soul would join them. Frankenstein couldn't tell when he stopped screaming or if he ever really stopped at all.

* * *

Henrie was watching him, as he always did. Frankenstein would miss those warm brown eyes, eyes that had seen him at his very best and very worst: eyes that were on him now; they made him feel like the center of the world.

"I did what needed to be done. The Union helped," Henrie said.

"Do you know? How many people were sacrificed for this?" Dark Spear was searing up his arms, vengeful fire.

"Not enough," was Henrie's reply. "How does it feel? Is it godlike?"

"It's a monster."

"Says the monster."

Frankenstein looked at him with wide eyes, breath almost leaving him had it not been so painful to breathe. With a clawed hand, he slammed Henrie against the wall by his shoulder. There was little resistance. He held him there, closely, intimately. "I love you, I loved you, you know," he said quietly, a tender whisper.

"I'm sorry you did." Henrie felt Dark Spear's fire blossom from his abdomen, felt it pollute his veins and choke him, the black and purple swirling around them both. Henrie smiled. Frankenstein would miss that smile. "But at least now, we'll always be together…" It swallowed him. "...l _over._ "

Frankenstein was still. He sank to his knees on the bruised ground. He lowered himself until his forehead touched the dirt. His shoulders were shaking. He laughed. He wept. It was painful to breathe.

* * *

(In Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_ , Henry Clerval is Victor Frankenstein's dear, morally upstanding friend who is too good to be real and acts as the foil to Frankenstein's character but does not stop him from making his monster; hence, Henrie, who lets the monster, Dark Spear, be created.)


	2. Chapter 2

"This is how the humans love each other, you know." He sat on the bed.

Raizel shifted just a little away, rustling the sheets. He looked out the window. The moon was not there to distract him tonight.

His brother rested his head on his lap. "Do you love me, Raizel?"

"I do." Raizel looked down, his eyes gentle.

"Forever?" his brother asked.

Raizel nodded.

"We only have each other." His brother, too, turned to look out the window. "Everyone else is scared." Suddenly, he sat back up, facing Raizel squarely. "As they very well should be." He leaned in. "Fear is powerful, Raizel." Closer still, he leaned in. "Sometimes, it's all people have." Their lips were together.

Raizel swallowed. He kept silent as he was stripped, as he was pressed down, bound—chained with his brother's powers. Taken. "I'll love you too, Raizel, forever. Promise me forever?"

"Yes," Raizel managed in between gasps, quickly, as he had learned it was unwise to keep his brother waiting too long for a response. He winced in pain, pain he was familiar with by now, but he kept quiet anyway. Raizel was worn.

His brother leaned down over him, foreheads touching. "Thank you," he said.

It was strange to see the image of his own face so close to him and feel fear.

* * *

His brother was watching him. Raizel turned away to the window. It comforted him, like a way out. He placed a hand on the windowsill, and suddenly, he didn't feel like being in this room anymore. Still, he stood still.

"It's best you don't wander off and get lost, Raizel. You know who you are supposed to be."

"You do not need to remind me, Brother."

"I do not want you getting hurt." A pause. "If there are duties to be fulfilled, I will fulfill them."

Raizel looked back. "Thank you," he said.

* * *

Raizel retreated into himself, curling slightly. He pulled the sheet over his bare shoulder. He was staring out the window. He gazed down at his arms, the bruises on them that would fade soon enough. He felt his neck; those marks would go away as well. He breathed out, hollow.

He did not want to be here at the moment, and yet, he did not want to move. He was deathly still, like a corpse. Was it so bad, to die? What was there to fear?

He did not look when his brother returned to the room. He did not react to his touch. His brother's hands were at last gentle now.

* * *

"I did it for you, for us." The sky was roaring red. " _Forever_ , Raizel." He looked down at the ground far beneath them. "We can't have that if we're dead, and it is the weak who die."

"You are mistaken." Raizel was bleeding. It was hardly new. "You've done this for yourself." He spoke softly, hesitant to try his voice. "You are selfish, Brother, and fearful."

"Of what?"

"Everything."

Their wings were wide, like the open red sea. They crashed into each other, and eventually, they crashed down. The loose soil dirtied them. His brother was on his knees, a position Raizel knew well. They were breathing, breathing; the air was sweet. They looked at each other, watched each other, watched themselves. They had always looked too much alike.

"Do you love me, Raizel?"

"I do."

His brother cracked into a grin, a raucous laugh, his teeth red with blood. "I love you too." He laughed and he was gone, dust like rubies. He glittered in the wind against the dark, dark sky.

It was not blood that wet Raizel's cheeks. He returned to his window.


	3. Chapter 3

Urokai brought him pleasant things: gifts and tea and conversation. He brought him smiles. He brought him love. He loved him, he loved him, he loved him. If only he was loved back.

He would visit, and the sight of Raizel made him nervous and flutter. He was happy enough that way, and he could have been happy enough forever.

Blood ran down his face, warm and dirty. With his remaining eye, he stared at the man before him, a man with suffering and deceit in his very veins. What Raizel saw in Frankenstein, Urokai could not see, couldn't care to look. He hated him. He was hated back.

Urokai held up the necklace, a cursed trophy, and before him emerged a dark monster.

A monster, that was all he was.

* * *

He looked at the eyepatch. "I don't get it."

"What?" Zarga looked over at him, for once. They used to be closer friends.

"Why... _him?_ " Urokai curled his fingers around it. "Why him!" he repeated, louder. He turned to Zarga. "Haven't _I_ always been there? Then _he_ just shows up one day, and just stays like a roach, telling Raizel who knows what, doing who knows what!" Urokai huffed. He put the eyepatch to his eye and secured it in place. "Shouldn't that be me? Don't I deserve at least that much? Sir Raizel won't even look at me, won't say a damn thing." He sighed. "I just...I just want more. Is it too much?" He looked intensely at Zarga. " _Is that too much?_ " Urokai was watching, waiting.

"I...don't know."

He looked away, clicking his tongue. "You're useless."

It was only natural to want to save the person he loved. Raizel was his sanctity, his idol, his. His ideal. And did he not deserve at least to pursue a fantasy? At least to dream of it? He only wanted him, just one person; he wasn't asking for much.

* * *

When he next saw Frankenstein, it undeniable he had stolen a bit of Raizel for himself, a bit of his very soul. Frankenstein wore their bond proudly—obscenely. He perverted the house and the sanctity of the Noblesse. Urokai was not so unaware that he did not know that true contracts required the desires of both participants.

Frankenstein had dared, unabashedly, recklessly, selfishly... _courageously_...dared to step forward and kneel before the Noblesse of his—of their own will. When Frankenstein kneeled, he was a peace, and Urokai found himself disgusted.

He wondered what it would be like to kneel before Raizel like that.

* * *

He had power. He had control. He had it all, except… Urokai stared at Frankenstein's tea and noticed that Raizel's cup was empty. The human was out sparring, making a mess, causing a ruckus as he was wont to do. "Shall I refill your cup, Sir?"

Raizel nodded.

The teapot was warm, and the liquid inside was hot—burning. He brought the spout up above the cup, Raizel's pale, pretty fingers still wrapped around it.

He passed it off as an accident when he spilled Frankenstein's scalding tea onto Raizel's hand. "Sorry, oh, sorry, _sincerely_."

Raizel hardly took notice of him.

 _Sorry, sorry, sorry._

* * *

Even to him, the plan seemed like risky nonsense. There was no guarantee Raizel would confront Muzaka, no guarantee they would even fight at all, and no guarantee that… "How do we know Muzaka would be able to kill him?" Urokai asked, looking absently out of the large window of their dark meeting place, the only source of light being the moon.

"He's the werewolf lord; he's supposed to be the strongest of them."

He had always disliked Lagus' voice. "Right…" Urokai responded.

The rest of the discussion among them faded into background noise, Urokai occasionally making a noise of confirmation to whatever it was they said amongst themselves, not really knowing what it was he was agreeing to. He crossed his arms and leaned his head against the biting cold of the window, staring outside at nothing particular until his vision adjusted to focus on his reflection. He didn't like it much; the eyepatch was garish and unnecessary. For a moment, Urokai wondered if he should have just agreed to get treatment, and he thought, fleetingly, that even Frankenstein would have possessed the skills needed to help him. He scowled at the thought, and in a dreadful pit in his stomach, he admitted he believed that Frankenstein _would_ have helped him, despite their previous conflicts. But no, wasn't he...just a monster?

Urokai's fingers were curling tightly, digging into his sleeve. "God!" he bursted out, sharply turning away from the window and towards the group. "How long are we just going to stand around here? What more needs to be discussed?"

"Urokai," Roctis chided. "This is a delicate operation. We could very well lose our lives over this if word gets out."

"Then maybe we should," Urokai mumbled, unthinking.

"What are you saying?"

"Nevermind, forget I said anything. Just do what you need to do." He briskly walked over to take a seat on a far side of the room.

* * *

When he was fleeing Lukedonia, he could sense the distant clash of immense power. Nonetheless, he kept his eye downcast, seeing the ground blurrily pass him by. It was better this way, to end Raizel while he was still the Noblesse and still dutiful. Urokai thought it was a form of justice; for Raizel's honor and sanctity, this would be best. And yet, something inside him ached with a pustulating dirtiness. He shook his head. There was no turning back; he kept his gaze on the ground. Perhaps he feared what he would see if he looked up, if he turned to what he had helped cause.

He at least deserved his fantasy.


	4. Chapter 4

They'd do anything. Anything for each other. Death had always been a promise, bittersweet.

Frankenstein was in his bed, bare skin against another in the morning light. He turned over to wrap his arms around his master's delicate, warm form and kissed the back of his neck. "Master...will you stay with me?"

"I will."

It was the little lies they told themselves.

* * *

It was something beyond obsession; it was _love_. Brutal, agonizing, maddening. Sweet. As sweet as all the sugar he stirred into Master's tea. It would ruin him; he knew this, but he could not find himself minding too terribly when they were together. It would all be worth it, he thought.

It was quiet between them, steam lazily rising from their cups. His master spoke soothingly, deliberately, as always. "Do you know whom I fear the most, Frankenstein?"

Frankenstein turned, eyes wide, attentive, surprised at the sudden topic. "Whom, Master?"

Raizel smiled softly and a little sadly, looking over his tea to him. "It's you."

 _Why?_

"I fear what you can do and will do, Frankenstein. You are capable of...too much."

Frankenstein kneeled by his master' feet, looking up in earnest. "It's all for _you,_ Master."

"I know." Raizel looked away, back at his tea. "I know…"

* * *

Frankenstein loved his master, and he loved the hunt, the thrill. Fighting made his blood roar, and like sex and highs, was catharsis. Beastly, monstrous, himself. But it was fighting that hurt Raizel; the sight of spilled blood was simultaneously arousing and terrifying. Seeping through bandages, trailing from mouths, coughed up—staining, abhorrent, ugly.

When his master spilled blood for them, Frankenstein found himself helpless, and he hated being helpless.

* * *

"You haven't rested for two weeks, Frankenstein."

"Oh…"

"Rest."

The lab door closed behind them, and Frankenstein and Raizel travelled silently back up to the house in the elevator. "Master, tonight, let's do something fun."

Raizel nodded.

* * *

The hood of the convertible down, their hair tangled in the wind. The stars blinked in the inky black sky, and Frankenstein took a moment to appreciate them after parking. "We're here, Master."

The club pulsed with deafening music, and neon lights swept through the fog constantly supplied by well placed machines, the people and walls painted in blues then purples, pinks, greens. The dancers were kaleidoscopes.

They were welcomed to a more private area, clearly for those made of money, and Frankenstein picked a booth in the corner and bought the drinks. Soon, pretentious bottles with pretentious names decorated their table. He wasn't sure which Master would like, if he liked any of them, pouring this and that and offering that and this.

Raizel took a liking to the cute, fruity cocktails, and Frankenstein, thrilled at his master's approval, thought it a waste to abandon the rest of the bottles and so busied himself with downing them with ease. Alcohol was only a mild poison to him, even if he earned a couple glances from other guests.

Feeling a little warm, Frankenstein smiled at Raizel and looked on at the scene. "Would you care to dance with me, Master?"

Raizel nodded, and Frankenstein extended a hand and led them to one of the dance floors. People brushed past them, aware only of their own stories and lives; the other moving bodies were a backdrop, and everyone was at the center of their own stage. In the middle of the people and the noise, they carved out their own pocket of intimacy.

Blues and purples, pinks, greens across their skin, Frankenstein held onto his master's hands and moved them with the sway of the music, and Raizel stared on with innocent wonder as their bodies pressed close. Frankenstein's laugh was drowned out by the music.

 _Will you stay with me?_

 _I will._

They tumbled out of the club with laughter in their lungs. The rain began to pour, and Frankenstein rushed to pull up the convertible. They drove for a long, long while.

The sun was rising by the time they returned home.

* * *

The sky was blinded by the satellite attacks, beams vaporizing the air on their way to earth.

He could feel destruction in their bond, feel the impending unravelling, his master falling apart. Frankenstein rushed away, practically flying. The air burned in his lungs. _I'll be there, wait for me, wait for me, Master._

When he arrived, Raizel was in tatters, standing only with great effort, and Frankenstein could not bear the sight and held him closely, firmly to himself, afraid he'd disappear if he were to let go.

Raizel sighed against Frankenstein's chest. "There is...one more."

"You've done enough, Master." Frankenstein feared speaking above a whisper.

Raizel shook his head and gently pushed him away, looking to the sky and seeing that burst of light.

The attack shook his very bones, his very soul, consuming, searing, as he pushed back, praying to his strength to hold. But when it was done, when the light died down and his wings collapsed into themselves once again, Raizel did not break, did not dissipate into red dust in the air. He felt alive, wrongly so.

To his horror, he turned and Frankenstein smiled sweetly, as sweet as all the sugar in his tea. It was the long silence of shock; he knew what had been done. "Frankenstein…" He stepped forward and raised a gently trembling hand to Frankenstein's face.

Frankenstein sighed into it, and spoke softly, tenderly. "When I gave you my blood all those centuries ago, it was a promise to give you my life, Master. And I finally figured out how. You have it now."

Raizel shook his head, eyes wide and glistening. "Stay, Frankenstein," he uttered. "Will you stay with me?"

He was tired now, very much so. Frankenstein spoke again as he felt his form begin to give way, scattering into the air. "That night, when you found me in the lab and we went out afterwards, did you have fun, Master?"

Raizel swallowed down his despair like bitter medicine. "I did."

"That's good." Frankenstein smiled, wrapping his arms around his master. "I did as well."

"Stay," Raizel tried again in his embrace, voice cracking, blinking away the blurriness in his eyes.

"I love you," Frankenstein whispered into his hair.

His face was wet, his voice shaken. "I...I _hate_ you," Raizel murmured. It was the little lies they told themselves.

Frankenstein laughed, as best he could. "As you should…" He smiled so well. "Have fun, Master." Then, he disappeared, was gone, blue and purple sparks in the air.

Raizel stared up and watched them drift and drift away. "Stay…" He looked down and knelt on the ground, holding one hand in the other on his lap. "I don't...I don't hate you."

* * *

The club scene was inspired by a conversation Earl, Laryna, and I had in a group dm.


End file.
